6. Nikola
NIKOLA
I barely spoke to Skye on the drive back to her dorm—I was too busy planning my return to Revelation so I could find the fucker who dared kiss Skye.
I couldn’t fuck her, so beating up an asshole who touched what was mine was the next best thing. It didn’t take me long to locate him, drag him outside to the neighboring deserted lot, and zip-tie his wrists behind his back.
“What the fuck is this, man?” he whimpered, his nose I punched earlier now swollen. But it was his black beady eyes that spoke of evil and all the depraved shit he probably planned on doing to my Skye. “This is against club rules.”
“We’re not in the club,” I pointed out as I took the time to slide off my suit jacket and roll the sleeves of my shirt up my forearms. I wasn’t fond of suits, but there was no sense in ruining one, especially since I’d just paid sixty grand for it.
Okay, truth be told, I didn’t give a shit about my suit. I just wanted to make the fucker sweat a bit longer.
“And guess what?” I continued with a drawl.
“Wh-what?” he stuttered, his black eyes darting around us, but there was nobody to save him.
“You’re about to be taught a lesson.”
“What do you mean, man?”
“To never touch what isn’t yours.” The rage simmered beneath my skin at the memory of seeing his hands cupping Skye’s jaw and planting a kiss on the mouth that belonged to me.
“To never touch a woman who doesn’t want your advances.
She didn’t want your kiss.” I tsked my tongue, shaking my head. “You picked the wrong woman.”
I took a step forward, my hands balled into fists, and the fucker’s eyes filled with fear.
“I didn’t pick her,” he cried, jerking against his binds. “I swear. I was told to kiss her.”
I paused. “By whom?”
“A woman. She gave me a thousand bucks to seduce her, then take her into one of those private rooms.”
“Who’s this woman?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know her name.”
My lips curled, my words dripping with sarcasm. “How convenient.”
“She goes by The Duchess .” My brow furrowed, but he must’ve taken my silence as a sign to plow forward. “She was going to let me fuck the mute bitch, but if you want her… I won’t. I like them better when they’re screaming anyhow.”
Fury shot through me and I fished out a lighter from my pocket, then lit it up.
“Who are you calling a mute?” I gritted, bringing the fire so close to his eyes that I could smell his flesh burn. “You’ll fucking pay for that. You and this fucking Duchess.”
“Please, you have to believe me.” He blinked, staring cross-eyed at the fire. “She was waiting for us in one of the private rooms. Maybe the club has her name?” He was dripping with sweat, fighting against the restraints I’d bound him with.
I sighed and stored the information away, making a mental note to follow up. With the recent resurfacing of the Belles and Mobsters Agreements and organ trafficking, I had to track every potential threat.
“Time to pay,” I declared.
“Spare me.” As if I’d ever let any fucker get away with putting a finger—never mind his lips—on Skye.
My fist flew into his face, connecting with his cheekbone. He let out a pathetic scream and I circled him. His eyes tried to follow my movement, but they were unfocused.
“Please, I don’t do well with pain,” he cried, his body shaking with fear and his cheek already purpling. Blood mixed with drool dripped from his mouth.
“Tsk, tsk,” I started, my voice calm while my rage simmered. “Should have thought of that before you touched my girl.”
Another punch.
“I’m sorry, man.”
I grinned at the screaming bastard; it was only the beginning of my lesson.
By the time I was done, his black beady eyes would never see or hurt another woman.
“I’m sorry, sir, but that information is confidential.”
The woman stared at me with a fearful gaze, her fingers trembling above a red panic button.
I’d really tried to appear non-threatening, but clearly I was failing.
“Can you contact the manager? Owner?” Fucking anyone else besides this woman who was ready to piss herself just standing here next to me.
“What seems to be the problem here?” A British-accented voice had me turning around. “I’m Maxim Baldwin, the owner.”
He extended his hand, and my attention was immediately drawn to his Tom Ford suit.
“Nikola Nikolaev.” We shook hands. “I need the name of a woman who tried to have my girlfriend abducted.”
Okay, maybe I was inflating the situation, but I needed results.
“Our screening policy is strict and very efficient. None of our members or visiting patrons fit that description.”
“Well, I got in, so it can’t be that efficient.” A heartbeat of silence followed and I continued. “I just need to know the name of a woman who goes by The Duchess. ”
Maxim’s eyebrows pulled together. “She’s a frequent visitor?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. It was my girlfriend’s first time here.” Then, realizing my mistake, I quickly added, “Mine too. Our first time here.”
Maxim went around the counter and typed in a few keystrokes. His eyebrows furrowed as he read and then began to type again.
When his eyes met mine, there was an expression in them I understood too well. Diplomacy.
“I’m afraid our system was exploited,” he stated slowly.
“This Duchess ”—he held up both hands to mark the word, his cufflinks shining in the low light—“gained entry using an invitation extended by a legacy member. One who just so happens to be long deceased.” At my blank look, he added, “A forged invitation, Mr. Nikolaev.”
I stiffened. A voice at the back of my mind warned me there was more to this, but judging by the expression on Maxim’s face, he wouldn’t be divulging anything else.
“Apologies again,” he said again. “We don’t have any other information.”